


you'll ask her to stay

by ElasticElla



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e09 Party Guessed, F/F, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Self-cest, gendered slur use (bitch)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You're not real,” Allison breathes, fingers tightening around the arrow embedded in her stomach. “You're not-”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you'll ask her to stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Denyce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denyce/gifts).



“You're not real,” Allison breathes, fingers tightening around the arrow embedded in her stomach. “You're not-”

“Now, now, Ally, don't hurt my feelings- I might have to shoot you again.” 

“Help!” Allison cries out, but none of the surrounding party-goers even look at her. 

“Always crying for help,” her image says distastefully, bringing the crossbow back up. “You're so _weak_.”

“You're not real,” Allison mutters again, a fervent prayer. 

“Oh baby,” she purrs, “I'm even more real than you. These people though? Not so much.” 

With a wave of her hand they all disappear, leaving just her and Allison. She shivers, belatedly realizing the arrow is gone- but there's still a hole in her sweater, and dried blood over healed skin. 

“What are you?” 

“Isn't it obvious love?” she asks with a smirk, tossing the crossbow aside and taking a bow, “I'm your doppelganger.” 

“I have a shadow self?” Allison bursts into a manic laughter, shaking her head. “No way, I'm drunk or injured or passed out or all three, because _that_ is just too ridiculous.”

“Think what you like little A,” she says, sweeping closer, brushing her knuckles along Allison's jaw. “Check your bestiary, I'll see you around.” 

Allison wakes up gasping, on a couch, relief flashing through her- it was just a fucked up dream- and ignoring a few odd looks, she heads to the kitchen for a drink. (She doesn't notice until much later that her sweater still has a hole in it, pajama clad and knives out, unable to sleep, tears gathering.)

.

Victoria is dead. 

Allison had been so sure when she saw her Dad, _so sure_ , it was just another stupid training lesson. Just a little hardcore emotional manipulation that didn't matter because her Mom was _alive_ , she had to be. She couldn't really be-

.

Allison lays in bed, spinning a knife around her finger, staring up at her ceiling. Her face is dry again, and she toys with the hole in her sweater. There's a sharp tug under her fingernail, and she yanks it free, sweater unraveling.

She'd never really cared for it, but her eyes feel wet again when she removes the ruined garment, breath caught in her throat. Her eyes catch on the bestiary, and a much better option than exploring why she's about to cry over something so small (why she's weak, why- oh god, her mother picked the sweater out didn't she?). Reading is good, safe. 

_For many years the existence of doppelgangers had been widely disputed amongst the hunting community. Tatia Argent found and faced her doppelganger in Paris, 1436. Pictured at the theater below together, Tatia's doppelganger pretended to be friendly while plotting to kill the real Tatia._

Allison gulped, looking at the picture. She'd been told before that she looked like one of her ancestors, but the painting of the two of them looked almost exactly like her. Dread creeping down her spine, she went back to reading, skimming until she got to their weaknesses. 

_The only true way to kill a doppelganger is to-_

The book disappeared before Allison could read the next word, her image smirking at her. 

“Naughty, naughty little Allison. Shouldn't you be in bed weeping over mummy dearest?” 

Allison's hand snaps up, but her doppelganger catches her wrist tightly. “Now, now- can't we just get along?” 

“Go back to hell you bitch.” 

“Only if you come with darling. What was it? Friends forever and a day?” 

“No,” Allison whispers, horrified. Old memories tumble through her mind, of an imaginary friend from long ago- one she'd laughed off as she aged, thinking how narcissistic she was to play make believe with someone identical to herself. 

“Oh yes,” she purrs, plucking Allison's hands up from her sides. “I'm here to make good on my promises.” 

Allison blinks, acutely aware of how far away each weapon is. “That's it?” 

She nods, running her fingertips up and down Allison's forearms. “Mhmm. Tatia was a monster, killing her was a mercy.”

Allison isn't sure what to do with that; if her doppelganger is actually Tatia's doppelganger, then she's over six hundred years old, an age she can't even grasp. 

“Don't worry baby,” she coos, “I'm going to make you strong.” 

(The words shouldn't soothe, shouldn't make her gratefully exhale.)

.

“What's your name?” Allison asks, her right jab missing her by an inch. 

“Feeling sentimental Argent?” she taunts, “or did you have something a little more distracting in mind?” 

Allison flushes hot, and her doppelganger traps her up against the wall, one arm pressed against her throat and the other hot on her hip. 

“Well?”

“Just curious,” Allison says, squirming against her hands. 

“It's Allison.” 

Her hands drop, and she backs off, letting her process. Allison's quiet for too long though, and she grows impatient. “It's why only I can help you, we're the same.” 

“Ally,” she finally says. “Allison is mine, and you were Ally before.” 

Ally smiles, “So I was. You need to keep your fists up a little higher.” 

.

Allison can feel herself grow sharper, stronger. Kate always said she'd make a pretty weapon, half in jest before Allison knew about the supernatural. She spends less time with her friends, doesn't want to explain it, Ally soaking up her life. Ally trains her, day in day out, and never once does she complain. 

(She's _strong_.)

They slip into their old relationship, finishing each other's sentences, and Ally slips into her bed at night. Allison's always run cold at night, as does Ally, and she doesn't mind the extra heat. 

She tells herself it's nothing when she wakes up wrapped around Ally, face buried in her hair. It's nothing when Ally showers with the door open or crawls into her lap for an impromptu wrestling match. 

(Allison's come to far to be caught on love, she'll have her vengeance.)

Ally laughs softly, fingers combing through her hair. “Love for _yourself_ isn't weakness babe, it's self-preservation.” 

And Allison can't find a fault in her logic, or maybe she doesn't care to look. 

She closes her eyes, and Ally kisses her.


End file.
